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THE PLAINT OF FREEDOM 



Vhe^ plaint of' freedom 






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TO 



THE MEMORY OF 



MILTON 




THOU ! our England's Most Divine 
Forgive thy liege, who — sitting here 
, In the shadow of thy sepulchre — 
With feeble voice would echo thine. 

Who dares Methought thy very clay 

Might tune the thinnest pipe of grafs, 
To tell the free winds as they pafs 

How England lets thy grave decay. 

How o'er it things abhor'd of light 
Crawl hideously, and worms obscene ; 
And daily tramplings of the Mean 

Would hide the epitaph of Might. — 

Thy prophet-mantle who may wear ? 
Yet from thy car of splendour throw 
One spark on me : my Song should flow 

Volcano-voiced, for all to hear. 



<9L 




EVOLT his storm-flag hath unfurl'd, 
And New and Old (like giant foes 
Who, tired of distant threatenings, close) 
With desperate grapplings shake the world. 

And thunder-voices rend the air, — 

For God and Right, for Elder Wrong : 
The clangour of a battle-song 

Flung heavenward in the lightnings' glare. 

And Change leaps like a springtide o'er 
The landmarks of the ancient sway : 
The fierce waves hunger for their prey ; 

And monarchs tremble at their roar. 

Their echoes break upon our coast — 
The isle that Freedom loved so well ; 
But stir not Freedom's Sentinel, 

Asleep on his neglected post. 



The watchman sleepeth, and the fire 
Of Freedom dwindles at his side, — 
The beacon, in old days espied 

By farthest lands, will soon expire. 

He sleeps as life was all forgot, 
And lower, lower sinks the flame ; 
And war-cries of his youthful fame 

Peal in his dreams, but stir him not. 

He sleeps, though nations shout his name ; 
The sea-winds, gathering far and near, 
Shriek vainly in his drowsy ear ; 

And lower, lower sinks the flame. 

The storm is hush'd a breathing-space, 
And Freedom's question cleaves the gale 
Ho, Saxon England ! canst thou fail ? 

Shall younger warriors take thy place ? 



Of old my name had been a spell 

To rouse thee from profoundest trance : 
The shadow of a winged lance 

Had warn'd thy slumber, ere it fell. 

Then blazed upon thy haughtiest cliffs 

My fires, reflected in the tide 

Which gulPd the Armada's lofty pride, — 
Scatter'd before our English skiffs. 

Yet higher soar'd the flame divine, 
Whose rays illumined distant lands, 
When Milton utter'd my commands, 

And Cromwell set. his foot by mine. 

But now no beacon marks thy shore ; 
The old undaunted soul is fled : 
White Land ! canst thou be pale with dread 

That Freedom needeth thee once more ? 



Why tarriest thou ? Till sting of pain 

Excite thy tamed Berserkir rage ; 

Or till our foe cast down a gage 
Not even thy strength can lift again ? 

What waitest thou ? Till Cofsack feet 
Spur thy slow courage ; till the war — 
Our sires had led to Trafalgar — 

Back desperately from street to street ? 

Till London croucheth to its doom : 

When strangers, stepping through our walls, 
Chaunt French Te-Deums in Saint-Paul's, 

And pile their arms on Nelson's tomb P 

What sloth of heart, or brain, or limb, 

What count of fears, what doubt of Right, 
Hath hid thy spirit in this night, 

Whose clouds thy starriest honour dim ? 



Can WicklifFe's heirs permit the Pope ? 

May Cromwell's lieges court the Tsar ? 

Or Alfred's lineage shrink from war, 
With shameful peace for only hope ? 

And yet, thy sword a liar's tongue, 

Thy highest faith some trick of trade, — 
What marvel England's name is made 

A synonym for Coward Wrong ? 

The land that boldly judged a king, 
And slew the traitor for his crimes, 
Now stoopeth to the poorest mimes 

Of Tyranny, — an abject thing. 

No wonder that thou darest not pile 
My beacon-fire : 'twould light the world 
To see the hydra-slavery curl'd 

In thine own heart, Unhappy Isle ! 



The town is thick with loathsome graves ; 
Yon fence, that girds a thousand fields, 
Shuts out the serf, — their harvest yields 

No harvest unto landlefs slaves. 

The weaver starveth at his loom ; 

The reaper faints for lack of bread ; 

White Age may no where lay its head ; 
Decrepid Childhood hath no bloom. 

O English Girl, unsex'd with toil ! 
O English Matron, gaunt and wild, 
That starest on thy strangled child, — 

And there is none to loose the coil ! 

And O thou Son and Sire of Woes, 

Whose steps are shadow' d by Despair, — 
Thou palsied Beggar, trampled where 

Our Hampden grappled with his foes ! 



The circled honour and the place 
Of Genius stolen by the Mean : 
What poor weak parody of a Queen 

Insults the Elizabethan race ! 

A peerage, — traffic's motley throng ! 

A Church, — where prelates build their styes ! 

And courts of law, — where JefTeries 
Remains a precedent for Wrong ! 

And in the halls where Vane was heard 
Some rascal Shopman, drunken-brave, 
Babbling of State, while Fool and Knave 

Applaud a lie in every word ! 

A People : thousands crowd the streets, 
Exclaiming, — Freedom ! let thy grace 
Be given us in the market-place, 

Where slave his fellow-coward meets ! 



So realms are colonized with thieves., 

Despite the moss-grown hearths at home ; 
And starved men through the bleak world roam, 

That native fields may fatten beeves. 

New chapels built, new schools endow'd, 
Of jails or hospitals no lack : 
Yet evermore the Poor Man's back 

Endures the cross and vulture-goad. 

Yet, with the gift of parrot tongues, 

Priests prate of heaven, and earth a hell ; 
Or preach to Outrage, — c It is well ! 
e God's luck to Villainy belongs.' 

And Patriots by snug parlour fires 

Dream of their pleasant oaken wreaths, 
And well-earn'd apoplectic deaths, 
s In memory of heroic sires. ■ 



12 



Was it for this in Freedom's smile 

Thy childhood grew robust and strong — 
Our forest-fastnefses among — 

When baffled Caesar fled the isle ? 

Was it for this that I prepared 

Thy youth in many an arduous fight ? 
For this, ere thou hadst reach'd thy height, 

Against a king thine arm was bared ? 

Invoke the ghosts of buried days, 

To show thee what thy life should be, — 
Thy former self rebuking thee, — 

If thou darest bide a hero's graze ! 

Like him who dead, in fear flung down, 
By touching but the prophet's corse, 
Revived, — so gain thou living force 

From out the tomb of old renown ! 




CARACTACUS, 

AER-CARADOC is hedged with steel 
And eager warriors grasp their swords 
For death or freedom, as thy words, 
Caractacus ! inflame their zeal. 

Reminding them of British worth. 
Still, as he went from man to man, 
He told how stout Cafsibelan 

Had driven the Roman Captain forth ; 

And bade them strive like stalwart peers 
Of olden Valour ! — Matters not 
Although Misfortune named the spot ; 

Their fame hath overlived the years. 

O great in battle, in defeat 

Sublime, true freeman firmly brave, 
Whose soul no Cassar could enslave : 

Thy glory Time shall not complete ! 



15 



ARTHUR. 

No hand, uprising from the mere, 
The charmed sword bestows again ; 
And tow'rd the enchanted land in vain 

We watch for Arthur to appear. 

Deep hid in death his knightly host ; 
The Saxons overspread the land 
Till, blent with many a conquering band, 

The Ancient Briton race is lost. 

And cowards say, — c A dreamy myth : 
c King Arthur was not ! ' There was One, 
A real man in times long gone, 
Whose life had heart of hero pith. 

Up, brave of soul ! the dream is plain : 
Recast your lives in worthy mould ; 
And, rallying to some leader bold, 

Shout forth — King Arthur lives again ! 



16 



ALFRED. 

No shade of doubt obscureth thee, 
Whose living fame to farthest Ind 
Was wafted on the exulting wind 

That fill'd thy sails with victory ! 

O old heroic scorn of ease ! 

Hope rises, ne'er so often slain ; 

Despair flees with the routed Dane : 
An English navy guards the seas. 

Yon glittering jewel on thy hand 
Place boldly in the public way, 
And find it there at latest day : 

For Alfred's justice walks the land. 

And Learning keeps her open school 
Upon the steps of Alfred's throne. 
Speak from thy glory, Valour's Own! 

Instruct our statesmen how to rule. 



EDMUND IRONSIDE. 

Again, again, the Northmen pour 

Their pirate swarms upon our coast ; 
Year after year, host following host, 

And more succeeding still to more. 

Who braves the last, like stag at bay, — 
Copes hand to hand with Denmark's strength, 
Gains field on field, and fails at length, 

Not weakly, but as warriors may ? 

King Edmund — king whate'er betide, 
Last worthy of our Alfred line, 
His country's chief by right divine, 

As iron-hearted Ironside. 



Too late : except to close the tale, — 
Of peace grown fat with shame secure, 
And foes who make their footing sure, 

And then proud deeds of no avail. 



HEREWARD THE SAXON. 

Seven feet of wild sea-beach is all 
King Harold's realm : a foreign heel 
Tramples that noble grave ; and steel, 

Which slew the free, shall scourge the thrall. 

c Woe to the Vanquish'd ! ' — tyrant greed, 
And anarchy with sateless maw, 
And rapine scorning right and law : 
The worst a stranger's hate can breed. 

Indignant tears of bearded men, 

And shrieks of outraged maids and wives,, 
And servile deaths, and outlaw'd lives 

In deep morafs or savage glen. 

Nor even the stubborn Hereward 

Can break the Norman's planted staff ; 
Or win beyond this epitaph, — 
( The last who sheathed a Saxon sword..' 



w 



ROBIN-HOOD. 

Yet better far in tangled wood 

Than palaced with the tyrant's men ; 
And nobler than a Norman den 

The forest-lair of Robin-Hood. 

Ay, better even for yeoman good, 
Than service under foreign lord, 
To roam at will on springy sward 

And rouse the deer with Robin-Hood. 

Cease, villein ! o'er thy woes to brood ; 
Be woodman's law thy only friend, 
Thy quarry vengeance : out, and bend 

A freeman's bow with Robin-Hood ! 

A thankless life in the merry green wood : 
Nathelefs in the shadow of Freedom there 
Some worthier hearts may learn to dare 

An aim beyond bold Robin Hood. 



20 



MAGNA-CHARTA. 

Gleams back on glorious summer morn 
From spear and shield the flashing light. 
Where Thames' fair bank is fringed with might 

Of barons English bred and born. 

6 God's Army' — for the Right combined: 

What king or pope shall break their wreath, 
Or bid the sword reseek its sheath 
Till our Great Charter hath been sign'd ? 

Now shout ye merrily through the land ! 

For all that perjured monarchs doubt, 

The Charter yet shall widen out 
Till Free and Bond have set their hand. 

Shout merrily, England ! Freedom's seed, — 
Whose growth our Hampden's blood bedew'd, 
Whose promised harvest Milton view'd, — 

Took root that day on Runnymead. 



FIRST COMMONS' PARLIAMENT. 

What host encamps on southern downs, 
A white cross glimmering on each breast ; 
And every kneeler's heart addrefs'd 

To Him whose will controuleth crowns ? 

Halt, Monarchy ! thy wand is bent : 
The good Sir Simon rules the land ; 
And gathers to his beckoning hand 

The English Commons' Parliament. 

O bloody-tinctured autumn leaf! 

How Evesham's vale is heap'd with slain ; 

Despair toils gallantly, in vain : — 
Yet God shall lift thee in his sheaf. 



Set firm thy foot, thou base-born churl ! 
Against the foot of mailed knight : 
And, as thou wrestlest for thy right, 

Remember Leicester's Righteous Earl ! 



WICKLIFFE AND SAWTRE. 

Behold where hasteneth on our view, 
Like one with tidings from afar, 
The Reformation's Morning Star, 

With all his lustrous retinue : 

Free-Thought to winnow truth from chaffy 
And Conscience, God's ordaining priest ; 
And Sacrifice that crowns the least 

With an eternal epitaph. 

Make ready Sawtre's cart of flame, 
His triumph-car to God's own door ; 
And pour the full light through the floor 

That beareth WicklifFe's sainted name ! 

Ungrave his bones ! Swift to the sea 
Shall float his ashes fire-accursed, 
That on the curblefs tempest hearsed, 

His dust may bid the world be free. 



23 



WAT-TYLER. 

But hurl your logic fairly through ! 
Since all alike are born divine, 
In right of Adam's royal line, — 

Red king and weather-purpled too, — 

Let human lives, as soul with soul, 
Be equal, and their pafsage free : 
Unbarrier'd as the impartial sea, 

Whose waves bound onward to one goal ! 

Pray thou for Thor's unerring throw ! 

Woe worth thy treason, Royal Knave ! 

Wat-Tyler's hammer digs thy grave, 
Though falling far, and seeming slow. 

Stout Saxon Workman ! fling thy wrath 
On him who scorns thy homely stead, 
Who counts thee but as groats-per-head. 

Strike once, and clear thy forward path ! 



24 



WARS OF THE ROSES, 

What gain is Chaucer's valorous rhyme, 
What prize the fame of Azincourt, 
If England's heart and life fall short 

Of deeds and poesy sublime ? 

If Wrong contending aye with Wrong, 
And Robber Robber mastering, 
Be all the sad shamed years may bring 

Their dark blood-slippery path along ? 

Hate copes with Hate, Power strives 'gainst Power: 
What happy strength may Discord know ? 
From bitter fount what stream can flow? 

What fruit shall follow canker'd flower? 

The door the fool Injustice built 

Lets in his fellow. Nought can stay 
Crime's Shadow. Fierce-wing'd Ruins lay 

Their dragon-eggs in nest of Guilt. 



2-3 



KET THE TANNER. 

Squeeze public weal for private gain ; 

Remove the landmarks of the poor ; 

Add field to field ; heap store on store : 
And marvel that your serfs complain. 

Gather your thousands round the tree 
That canopies the Tanner's throne : 
O patient poor-folk ! cease to moan ; 

Can not those sinews make you free ? 

The summer-tide is green with hope, — 
Hope all untrain'd., that only dares : 
And now what harvest home is theirs ? 

The rebel's choice of sword or rope. 

So Tyler fail'd, so Ket must fail : 

The plough hath pafs'd o'er Moushold Oak. 

The unheeded word the c felon' spoke 
Time echoeth, until it prevail. 



QUEEN ELIZABETH. 

Scene-shifting History ! — Grief shall be 
Transfigured in the dazzling sheen 
That wreathes yon haughty-visaged Queen 

With constellated majesty. 

What pageants these, with Honour's spoil ? 

Rare Spenser ; Sidney without stain ; 

And Raleigh of the subtle brain. 
First planter in Columbian soil ; 

And Drake whose knightly arm had zoned 
The World, who singed the Spaniard's beard ; 
With noble Effingham who clear'd 

Our seas, and WicklifTe's curse atoned ; 

And Shakspere who has Fame for hearse, — 
And the world's years for pyramid — ■ 
Where pride of kings, else ruin-hid, 

Shall lie embalm'd in richest verse. 



27 



GILBERT AND DAVIS. 

Yet pafs not by the pageant so ! 

Some other modest names shine forth,, 
To shame our huckstering years with worth 

Of souls could both believe and do. 

Great Humfrey Gilbert who would spend 
Himself in toils, and danger spurn : 
Since c death is sure and fame eterne, — 

Wherefore I falter not, nor bend.' 

Brave Master Davis, love of whom 

Led men from pleasant hearths to dare 
The trackless seas. God watch'd him where 

He met his thanklefs noble doom. 

And Grenville, whose one hundred men 
That night off Florez did remain 
To teach the naval power of Spain 

The English of heroic then. 



SIR RICHARD GRENVILLE, 

A hundred men for fifteen hours 

Beat back ten thousand : morn shall see 
One bark defying fifty-three, 

And, shatter'd, foiling all their powers. 

For warily distant in a ring 

Spain's great armadas baffled lie : 
Like dogs, far-watching till he die, 

Around the dying forest king. 

And c with a glad and quiet mind 
c Here die I Richard Grenville, who 
c Have done what I was bound to do, 
1 Leaving a soldier's fame behind.' 

A soldier's fame ! What else, while Life 
Must battle momently with Wrong P 
Gird on thy sword, be true and strong,- 

And God absolve thee from the strife ! 



SIR JOHN ELIOT. 

As One who climbs from stair to stair — 
For narrow is the way and steep — 
Until he treads the topmost keep 

And plants his victor-standard there, — 

So Boldnefs steps from age to age — 
Built, Titan-like, hill crowning hill — 
And stands, and with o'ertowering will 

Throws into heaven a champion's gage. 

So clomb the dawn ere day began : 
So Eliot reacheth to his tower, 
Proclaiming thence with herald power 

The coming Monarchy of Man. 

Brave Prisoner ! — Quail, thou crowned Lie ! 
Before that proudly wasted face : 
The firm lips asking but one grace, — 
( A little air, for strength to die/ 



HAMPDEN AND CROMWELL. 

Not now may true-souPd patriots make 

New homes, while Wrong o'erstrides their land: 
Stay, worthiest Hampden ! though thy hand 

Deal but one blow for Freedom's sake. 

And let the fiery zeal had sought 
Truth in the farthest wildernefs 
Harnefs thy life to meet this strefs 

With iron vigour, conscience-wrought ! 

Thy manhood simple : daily prayer 

For strength and time : — Uplift thy brow ; 
Muster thy fellows round thee now, — 

Strong-limb'd and godly men who dare ! 

With bloody spur Prince Robber rides 
That harvest-day from Marston-Moor : 
God made them as the straw before 

The swords of Gideon's Ironsides. 



EXECUTION OF CHARLES. 

With bloody spur may Rupert ride 
From Naseby ; Dunbar shall be ours ; 
And Worcester echo on the hours 

When God was manifest on our side. 

Our native fields are crimson-dyed 

With brothers' blood ; I may not wink 
At Charles in pistol-reach. Nor shrink 

From solemner tyrannicide. 

Shrink not ! The traitor Stuart's doom 
Shall be a message to all days : 
The hand-writing on the wall, to craze 

Monarchic Power till Right have room. 

For Truth and Peace !' The psalm is sung ; 

Forth swords! In the name of God Most High 
Charge through! — Ay! through. Is c Peace' a lie? 

Are Truth and Peace but beads unstrung ? 



32 



THE COMMONWEALTH. 

Then bind the axe with lictor rods. 

Let them precede you through the street : 
That, as the years your triumph meet, 

Men may respect your work as God's. 

Glory to England ! at her heart 
The spirit of patriotism stirs, 
A living hope : what joy is hers ! — 

And now — all childlefs as thou art ! — 

But then thy heroes pour'd their blood, 

Their wisdom, power, and wealth, for thee 
Their duteous valour made thee free ; 

Their lives thy honour understood : 

Or striding over slaughter's field, 
Or building empire on the waves, 
Or driving tyrants to their graves, 

Or rounding safety's broken shield. 



33 



THE LONG PARLIAMENT. 

Proclaim them rebels ! none the lefs 

The State's true servants, brave and leal 
And never royalty more real 

Than that republican accefs. 

When Cromwell held the scales of fight ; 

And Scot unravel'd treason's skein ; 

And all the soul of pious Vane 
Had scope wherein to task its might ; 

When Blake was master of the sea ; 

And Ireton led the march of worth ; 

And Bradshaw's kinsman thunder'd forth 
The glorious logic of the free. 

What lack'd they ? Custom's sacred oil. 
The sanction of some mouldy shelves. 
Why did they not assert themselves, 

And make the worst reproach their foil ? 



34 



ITS DISSOLUTION. 

For Right is primal law of life 

A form past legal precedent : 

So argued Cromwell, as he went 
To end their vainly formal strife. 

What votes ? We know they are averse. 
We ask'd no warrant for the sword : 
And shall we now let slip reward 

In terror of some coward's curse ? 

You would, but will not. Get you hence ! 

Give place to honester attempt. 

Not weakly careful to exempt 
True deeds from challenge of offence. 

Brave pilot-king ! hold thou the helm ; 

And drive the vex'd ship through the storm. 

While Milton's praises Time inform, 
Blame wrecks thee not, howe'er it whelm. 



MILTON. 

For he was of Perfection's mould, — 
The best-beloved of Freedom's seed, 
Her councillor in depth of need 

Or standing on the steps of gold. 

And day by day his course he kept 
Within the bounds of virtuous aim, — ■ 
No razor-bridge o'er gulfs of flame, 

But the broad path where Honour stept. 

Life's topmost heights he firmly trod ; 

As grandly journey'd through f the mean' ; 

Defeat bow'd to his front serene ; 
His worn eyes ne'er lost sight of God. 

And therefore Freedom did intrust 

To his sure hand her two-edged blade : 
Which slays who wrongly ask its aid, 

And only serves the pure and just. 



36 



THE PROTECTORATE. 

And Milton leans on Cromwell's hand., 
And Cromwell looks with Milton's eyes ; 
Succefs must kneel to their emprize. 

The Future stoop to their command. 

Religious Skill the nation's harm 
Shall cure, and private morals heal ; 
And Justice guide the common-weal ; 

And Art and Song add each its charm. 

Hark ! Milton's voice in Alpine pafs 
Hurls back the persecutor's sword : 
For c England's name shall be a word 
c More dread than e'er the Roman was.' 

So had it been. What dirge-like groan 

Rends earth and sea with tempest-power ? 
Great Cromwell pafses in that hour. 

Lord ! make this people yet thine own. 



37 



V ANE— SYDNEY— RUSSELL. 

The fire is out ; Vane's life-blood pour'd 
Upon the scatter'd altar-stones : 
And ribalds desecrate the bones 

Of men whom Courage had adored. 

And on the Martyrs' bloody sod 

Shame's revellers foot the embers out, — 
Save where, escaped the darkening rout. 

Two souls flash upward unto God : 

A Rufsell, pleading for the right 

Of battle with tyrannic laws ; 

A Sydney, for the c Good Old Cause' 
Republican. And all is night. 

A night to make the brave despair : 
For Circe's Bastard hath regain'd 
His wand ; and England sits enchain'd, 

Plague-smitten, stark, with horrent hair. 



3S 



i688. 

One fitful gleam illumes the cloud, 
The murky pall of English Worth ; 
The muttering thunder once bursts forth, 

The sleeper turneth in his ' shroud. 

What noise ? inquires the dark-brow'd king : 
'Tis nothing, but a rabble cheer — 
An empty shout to wake no fear — 

The Bishops' verdict welcoming. 

'Tis nothing : it hath scared away 
Another king. 'Tis nothing yet. 
Albeit the Stuarts' orb hath set, 

No Morning Star brings in the Day. 

There is no virtue in a choice 
Of evil ways ; nor in the staid 
Slow drone of caution, doubt delay'd, 

The rhythm of an heroic voice. 



PAINE. 

Yet once again a prophet's speech 
To the dull isle an entrance finds. 
Borne upon transatlantic winds : — 

Ah, if it England's heart might reach ! 

And on the crimson-clouded dawn 

Of France strong English words are writ 
Kings shake as with an ague-fit ; 

Power fleeth like a startled fawn. 

Alas ! turn back the blotted page. 

The Titans under iEtna lie ; 

The prophet hath his destiny, — 
An exiled and neglected age. 

Last of the Brave ! when Freedom cites 
Her Chosen, can she pafs thy name ? 
True-hearted Paine, who dared proclaim 

The common-sense of human rights. 



40 



So Freedom's voice fail'd. All was still, 
Except the moaning of the sea, 
And fierce winds yelling up the lee, 

Or shrieking round some wooded hill. 

No sound articulate : but tears, 
Wild gusts of iron-pointed rain, 
And raving wind and wave again, 

And sobs as of heart-breaking years. 

Speak to us, thou unhonour'd Dead ! 
Since living utterance is none : 
Thou that wast of our blood and bone, 

Redeem us from this close of dread ! 

O eyes star-likest, dim'd, not dull ! 

Proud face, so radiant through the dark ! 

Deep-hearted voice ! — Be hush'd to mark 
His song ; then lift your chorus full ! 



I HO calleth MILTON"? Is there nought 
lllli ^ manhood now in England ? Bid 

The living rise ! What tomb hath hid 
Thy copies of heroic thought ? 

Thy Coke ; thy Selden ; or thy Pym — 
Staunch hunter of the tyrant earl ; 
Thy Blake ; thy Vane — whose days unfurl 

As stately as a blazon'd hymn ; 

Thy Fairfax — Valour's second self; 

Thy Marten — Thought with brow unbent ; 

Thy Bradshaw — Worths' fit president ; 
Thy Marvel — too rich-soul'd for pelf. 

Wake, thou that sleep'st on Sydney's grave ! 
Up, helot-bred ! The Ghosts of Old 
Point with dead fingers at thy cold 

Unpafsion'd life, thou worse than slave ! 



Awake ! the ruddy morn grows late ; 

Resume the glories of thy line ; 

Own at the least some duty thine ; 
Up i for the Gaul is at thy gate. 

Shake off the apathy has made 
Thy life an ignominious dream, 
Half sunk in Lethe's duller stream — 

The fou^ slow, sullen wave of Trade ! 

Once more let Reverence guide thy feet ; 
And Hope's prophetic voice be raised, 
Above the clamours of the crazed, 

Above the traffic of the street ! 

O Hope ! — What hope ? Of more per cent, 
Of costlier garb, or daintier food, 
For me or you ? Nay ! hope of Good, 

Not shabby personal discontent. 



Our Country's good : so pure that Fame 
Shall consecrate our flag as hers, 
And History's firmest characters 

Write in God's Book our England's name. 

Our Country : ay ! the column'd group 
Of upright fairly-cluster'd years, 
The one continuous life, that bears 

A roof where Virtue need not stoop. 

Close, brethren ! stand no more aloof; 
Wait not God's Woes to force you near,— 
War's iron ring of tightening fear, 

Or blind Dishonour's crushing hoof. 

My England ! claim again thy due — 
To teach the nations how to live ; 
Nor hold thy great heart as a sieve 

For daily shames to hurry through ! 



The place where pedlars day by day 
Dispute their gains, or nightly rest, 
Is not our Country, but at best 

A decent caravanserai. 

Step reverently ! each foot of earth 
Is hallow'd ground : heroic dust 
Of sires who left their land in trust 

To me and thee, for future Worth. 

What monument should mark their grave 
Their likenefs on their ancient seat, 
And Angels with swift-winged feet 

Bringing the garlands of the Brave, 

Look up! Be thou, -. Th 

That glorious Image of the Past ; 
And yon cloud-shadow, o'er thee cast, 

The coming of a doom sublime ! 



Seek Faith, that brooks no lower aims : 
The Faith in God, which works for man: 
The Faith whose martyr-name is Can, 

Whose form walks harmlefs thorough flames ! 



o 



And welcome Honour home again, 
To guard thee like a rock-built wall, 
That shakes not though the heavens fall, 

Though Fate herself should slip her chain. 

And Patriot Zeal shall spring from these : 
An armed knight with flag unfurl'd, 
Firm-held on high before the world, 

To rescue world-eternities. 

And make thy life as purest glafs, 

Through which the Angel shall be seen : 
No more a cell of pafsions mean, 

A tomb o'erwrit with lies of brafs ! 



47 



So build thy house — the Church of God — 
That all may worship in its dome : 
Its poorest room a holy home, 

Whose threshold Power shall crofs unshod ! 

And care lest, when thy servants lay 
Their duteous offerings on thy shrine, 
The woman's half — as duly thine — 

Be privily hid and kept away ! 

Our wiser fathers could perceive 
In woman's soul God's purer ray : 
Fair Eos of the hastening Day, 

Lead us to love, and to believe ! 

And bid thy children reverence thee, 

And trust themselves, and serve the True 
Nor only teach them what to do ; 

Instruct them also how to be ! 



48 



A crystal, — break it as you will, 
Howe'er minutely it divides, 
Each fragment hath its perfect sides, 

Each is a perfect crystal still. 

Be thus complete ! Yet ware the fault 
Of shaping, fitting overmuch, 
Till, as the most are fashion'd, such 

The few must be, and progrefs halt. 

Brave Nature hath no general mould 
Wherein the larger and the lefs 
Must needs conform; but to the strefs 

Of will commits the stronger-soul'd. 

Nor lose in widest range of growth 

The shade which each should yield to each ! 
Be every life an earnest speech ; 

The nation's one according oath! 



19 



We are a nation for this end : 

That in the close familiar tie 

Our own may find a sure ally 
In war, in peace a friendlier friend. 

So several strengths may interlace,. 
As lovers' arms, like choosing like : 
Smile thus ! Why, Destiny dare not strike ; 

New Gods proceed from our embrace. 

New Gods : for whoso serveth, he 
Is as a God ; and we, full-grown, 
No more are living for our own, 

But for the world. God ! may it be. 

So, England J though the blustering tides 
Break over thee with stormiest wrath, 
Thou shalt be sure. Brave Ark, that hath 

God's Flight. And lo, the flood subsides. 



And milder skies console the lands ; 

Our bow of promise spans the years ; 

And Nations, smiling through their tears, 
Stretch forth to thee their grateful hands. 

For thou didst aid them to endure ; 

Didst share their every hope and ill ; 

And bridged the future with firm will 
Whereon great actions walk'd secure. 

And therefore England's name is held 
Beloved, First of Hope's Redeem'd : 
Now Hope no longer is blasphemedj 

Since hoary Tyranny is quell'd. 

And guerdons strew thy onward course,, 
As in the prime of Freedom's day 
Thou gird'st thee to resume thy way, 

Rejoicing in thy giant force. 



Sweet is young Pafsion's lusty spring ; 
And holy is the household fire 
Where sit the Matron and the Sire 

And watch the Blefsings years must bring. 

Now Summer piles his gorgeous eves : 
The realm is crown'd with ruddy grain ; 
The lordly peasant heaps his gain, 

And bright-hair'd laughers count the sheaves. 

Hark to the hammer's cheerful song S 
Thor worketh at his forge, beside 
The younger God — Art deified 

By labour lowest needs among. 

And Health enjoys his simple feast ; 

Age grows on age, like leaf on stem, — 
Each with its blofsom-diadem — 

The Statesman and the Poet-Priest. 



So inward-eyed, the Prophet saw. 

Now dust is gather'd on his head ; 

How laggardly the centuries tread I 
Yet shall his dream be truth and law ; 

His voice be heard in every clime 
Where English Enterprize hath trod ; 
His eyes, outworn with tracking God, 

Still choose our path to verge of time ; 

His song shall be the clarion-cry 

To win us from lethargic rest ; 

His name, like a beloved crest, 
Shall lead our force to victory. 

Weak, pafsionate words ! — O for an hour 
Of Fame, that banded Wrong might know 
The worth of one true English blow 

Struck home with full Miltonic power ! 



53 




OW hang your vows upon his urn ! 
Heap sacrifices o'er his tomb : 
Till that high monument become 
A mark Time's farthest may discern ! 

Lo where Hyperion's Image towers ! 

Who climbs the height, with fitting meed 
To crown our chief? What soaring deed 

Shall reach him from these downcast hours ? 

Whatever life hath core of truth 

May tread the summit of the steep ; 
Or with wing'd prophecy upleap 

The distance. Rouse thee, English Youth ! 

Kifs with pure lips the living coal 

From Freedom's altar ! Learn to dare ; 
Train thy brave sinews ; up, and swear 

True service! Ay! by Milton's Soul. 



The leaf hath fallen, the pool is stir'd : 
Spread, ye slow circles ! far and wide, 
And reach the shore on every side. 

So falleth my unnoticed word. 

None answer : yet by that lone voice 
The waves of air are moved, to be 
Moved yet again, eternally. 

Dying unheeded, I rejoice. 

Long grafses hide a namelefs stone : 
The poorest grafs-root hath its seeds : 
What care though triumph's growth proceeds 

From vile remains of one unknown ? 

Thou, GOD ! art living. At thy side 

Truth sits, serenely waiting till 

The glafs of Destiny shall fill, 
And Victory mount to claim his bride. 



NOTES 



NOTES. 

When baffled Caesar fled the isle 

' Britain he sought, but turn'd his back dismay'd.' Lucan. See 
also the Commentaries for sufficient proof. 

Like him who dead, in fear flung down 

' The bands of the Moabites invaded the land. — And as they 
were burying a man they spied a band ; and they cast the man 
into the sepulchre of Elisha : and when the man was let down 
and touched the bones of Elisha, he revived, and stood up on his 
feet.' 2 Kings, XIII. 20-1 

Whose living fame to farthest Ind 

Sigelm, bishop of Sherburn, was sent to India by Alfred, with 
gifts for the shrine of St. Thomas. 

Hereward, the Saxon 

{ England's Darling' — as Hereward was called — was lord of 
Born, in Lincolnshire. He was in Flanders at the time of the 
Conquest : but returning, he expelled the Normans from his pa- 
trimony, aided his neighbours in like deeds, and, establishing a 
fortified ' Camp of Refuge ' in the morasses of the Isle of Ely, 
raised the banner of independence, and long bade defiance to the 
Conqueror. Starved out of his stronghold, he still maintained a 
guerilla warfare, subdued at last, in 1071, only by the hopeless- 
ness of the struggle, not conquered by the arms of William. 



62 



Robin Hood 
The oldest poems on Robin Hood make him a yeoman, not 
Earl of Huntingdon. His date is very uncertain. Stowe in his 
Annals has it 'about 1190.' Robin Hood is taken here as the 
impersonation of Saxon outlawry, of the long-during opposition 
of the people to the Norman rule. 

1 God's Army ' — for the Right combined 

The Barons called their force ' the army of God and his holy 
church.' This beginning of English liberties, well worthy our 
reverence as such, had however no provision for the relief of the 
great mass of the people, the serfs or villeins. 

What host encamps on southern downs ? 

The army of Simon de Montfort, earl of Leicester, at the vic- 
tory of Lewes, 1264. In the beginning of the next year, 
Leicester summoned the first Parliament in which the cities and 
boroughs were represented. After his overthrow at Evesham — 
on the 4th of August, 1265 — Leicester was canonized by the 
people as a saint and martyr, and long affectionately spoken of as 
' the good Sir Simon,' ' Sir Simon the Righteous.' 

Make ready Sawtre's cart of flame 

William Sawtre, rector of Lynn, in Norfolk, burnt at the 
stake for heresy in 1401, was the first religious martyr in Eng- 
land. — 

John de Wycliffe, the herald of the Reformation, died in his 
bed, at his rectory of Lutterworth in Leicestershire, in 1384 ; 
and his body lay unmolested in the grave till 1428. But then — 
says quaint old Fuller, in his Church History — ' such the spleen 
of the Council of Constance as they not only cursed his memory 
as dying an obstinate heretic, but ordered that his bones (with 



this charitable caution, — if it may be discerned from the bodies 
of other faithful people) to be taken out of the ground and 
thrown far off from any Christian burial. In obedience here- 
unto, Rich. Fleming, Bishop of Lincoln, Diocesan of Lutterworth, 
sent his officers (vultures with a quick sight, scent, at a dead car- 
case) to ungrave him. Accordingly to Lutterworth they come, 
Sumner, Commissary, Official, Chancellor, Proctors, Doctors, and 
their servants (so that the remnant of the body would not hold 
out amongst so many hands), take what was left out of the 
grave, and burnt them to ashes, and cast them into Swift, a 
neighbouring brook running hard by. Thus this brook has 
conveyed his ashes into Avon, Avon into Severn, Severn into the 
narrow seas, they into the main ocean ; and thus the ashes of 
Wickliffe are the emblem of his doctrine, which now is dispersed 
all the world over/ 

Pray thou for Thor's unerring throw 

Thor, the Saxon War-God, was said to be the first-born of the 
Sun and Earth ; for so soon as light dawns upon the chaotic 
earth true force begins its warfare for improvement. His gaunt- 
leted hand wielded an iron hammer which never missed its aim, 
with which he crushed all things that opposed the Eternal Gods. 

Nearly five hundred years since (1381) Wat Tyler, the Ma- 
ligned of History, demanded the political equality of all subjects 
of the realm, and now our intelligent villeins — mechanics ' and 
else' — are considering the propriety of some whig ' instalment,' 
of the franchise for all but ' about a million'. 

Ket, the Tanner 

Eobert Ket — or Knight — a wealthy tanner of Wymondham, 
near Norwich, headed a rebellion of the labouring-classes in 
1549. Their particular grievance was the enclosure of common 



63 



lands. An army of twenty thousand men assembled round Ket's 
banner, and at first defeated the king's troops ; but, wanting dis- 
cipline, were after a few months' bravery utterly overthrown. 
Ket held his tribunal under an oak — which thence was called 
the ' Tree of Eeformation' — on Moushold Hill. Here just judge- 
ment was pronounced, whether on notorious injurers of the Com- 
monalty or on the more disorderly of the rebel camp. And here, 
too, with a notable fairness, the insurgents permitted even their 
opponents to make ' pithy orations' against their enterprize. 

And Raleigh of the subtle brain, 

First planter in Columbian soil 

The first attempts at English colonization in America were 
made under the direction of Sir Walter Ealeigh. 

And Drake whose knightly arm had zoned 
The World, who singed the Spaniard's beard ; 
With noble Effingham 

Sir Francis Drake was the second who sailed round the world, 
— the Portuguese Magellan — or Magelhanes — being the first. On 
the first threat of the Spanish invasion of England, Drake was 
sent to burn the Spanish ships in their own harbours. This he 
called ' singeing the King of Spain's beard.' Lord Howard of 
Effingham, though a Catholic, gallantly led the Protestant force 
of his country to victory over the invader : a noble expiation of 
the old insult to Wickliffe's memory, — the Papal Armada sunk 
in the seas which had drunk the ashes of the Heresiarch. 

Great Humfrey Gilbert 

Humfrey Gilbert (half-brother of Sir Walter Ealeigh) who 
gave his life and fortune to serve his country by maritime disco- 
very. On his way home, in his last voyage, he trusted himself 



to the smallest of his vessels, a frigate of only ten tons, because 
' he would not forsake the little company with whom he had 
passed so many storms and perils ' : that little vessel having 
been used most in exploring the American coasts. One night she 
went suddenly down ; and the brave Gilbert with her. 

Brave Master Davis 

John Davis was one of our most daring navigators, the man 
who, in a black night, in a gale of wind, ran his ship through 
Magelhaen's Straits by a chart which he had made with his eye 
in passing once before. Men left then homes to sail with him 
for mere love of his noble qualities. In 1604 he fell in with a 
crew of Japanese drifting at sea in a leaky junk, without provi- 
sions. He guessed them to be pirates, but would not even so 
that they should be deserted. A few hours afterwards he was 
murdered by them. 

Sir Richard Grenville 

In August, 1591, under Lord Thomas Howard, six English 
line-of-battle ships, six victuallers, and two or three pinnaces, were 
lying at anchor under the island of Florez. Light in ballast and 
short of water, with half their men disabled by sickness, they 
were unable to pursue the aggressive purpose on which they had 
been sent out. Several of the ships' crews were on shore ; the 
ships themselves ' all pestered and romm aging,' with everything 
out of order. In this condition they were surprised by a Spanish 
fleet consisting of 53 men-of-war. Eleven of the twelve English 
ships obeyed the signal of the Admiral to weigh or cut their 
anchors, and escape as they could. The twelfth, the Revenge, 
commanded by Sir Richard Grenville, of Bideford, could not so 
quickly follow. Of her crew of 190, 90 were sick on shore, and 
from the position of the ship there was some difficulty and delay 
in getting them aboard. But Grenville hastened not. He first 



cared for all his sick : and then, with no more than 100 men 
to fight and work the ship, deliberately weighed, as if uncertain 
what to do. The Spanish fleet was by this time on his weather- 
bow, and he was advised (says his cousin, Sir Walter Ealeigh) 
1 to cut his mainsail and cast about, and trust to the sailing of 
his ship. But Sir Kichard utterly refused to turn from the 
enemy, . . persuading his company that he would pass 
through their two squadrons in despite of them, and enforce 
those of Seville to give him way, which he performed upon 
divers of the foremost, who, as the mariners term it, sprang 
their luff, and fell under the lee of the Revenge. But the other 
course had been the better ; and might right well have been 
answered in so great an impossibility of prevailing : notwith- 
standing, out of the greatness of his mind, he could not be per- 
suaded.' The wind was light ; the San Philip, ' a huge high- 
carged ship' of 1500 tons, came up to windward of the Revenge, and, 
taking the wind out of her sails, ran aboard her. Then, while so en- 
tangled, ' four others boarded her, two on her larboard and two 
on her starboard. The fight thus beginning, at three o'clock in 
the afternoon, continued very terrible all that evening. But the 
great San Philip, having received the lower tier of the Revenge, 
shifted herself with all diligence from her side, utterly mis- 
liking her first entertainment. The Spanish ships were filled 
with soldiers, in some 200, besides the mariners, in some 500, 
in others 800. In ours there were none at all, besides the mar- 
iners, but the servants of the commander, and some few volun- 
tary gentlemen only. After many interchanged vollies of great 
ordnance and small shot, the Spaniards deliberated to enter the 
Revenge, and made divers attempts, hoping to force her by 
the multitude of their armed soldiers and musketeers : but 
were still repulsed again and again, and at all times beaten 
back into their own ships or into the sea. In the beginning of 
the fight, the George Noble, of London, having received some 



66 



shot through her by the armadas, fell under the lee of the Re- 
venge, and asked Sir Richard what he would command him ; 
but being one of the victuallers, and of small force, Sir Richard 
bade him, save himself and leave him to his fortune.' All that 
August night the fight continued. Ship after ship of the 
Spaniards came on upon the Revenge, ' so that never less than two 
mighty galleons were at her side and aboard her,' washing up 
like waves upon a rock, to fall back foiled and shattered. Before 
morning fifteen armadas had assailed her, and all in vain. Two 
had heen sunk at her side ; and the rest ' so ill approving of 
their entertainment, that at break of day they were far more 
willing to hearken to a composition than hastily to make more 
assaults or entries.' 1500 Spaniards were slain ; 40 also of the 
100 in the Revenge. A great part of the rest of our crew was 
wounded ; all our powder spent, all our pikes were broken. Sir 
Richard, though badly hurt early in the battle, had never left 
the deck till an hour before midnight. Then he was shot through 
the body, and again in the head while his wounds were being 
dressed. His surgeon was killed in attending him. The masts 
were lying over the side, the rigging cut or broken, the upper 
works all shot in pieces, and the ship herself, unable to move, 
was settling slowly in the sea ; the vast fleet of Spaniards lying 
around her in a ring, like dogs round a dying lion, wary of ap- 
proaching him in his last agony. Then Sir Richard, as it was 
past hope, ' commanded the master-gunner, whom he knew to be 
a most resolute man, to split and sink the ship, that thereby 
nothing might remain of glory or victory to the Spaniards ; 
seeing in so many hours they were not able to take her, having 
had above fifteen hours' time, above ten thousand men, and fifty- 
three men of Avar, to perform it withal ; and persuaded the com- 
pany, or as many as he could induce, to yield themselves unto 
God and the mercy of none else.' 



Sir John Eliot 

Eliot was the forerunner of the Great Rebellion ; the fiiend of 
Hampden, and the eloquent and unflinching opponent of Charles I. 
He died in 1632, after nearly four years' captivity in the Tower, 
for patriotic words uttered in Parliament ; leaving a name which 
has yet to be acknowledged as second to none of the Heroes of 
our Commonwealth, these Dii Majores of English History. His 
noble philosophical work — the solace of his prison hours — the 
Monarchie of Man, is yet unpublished, known only by the ex- 
tracts given in Forster's Lives of the Statesmen of the Common- 
wealth, ' Set mee at liberty, that for recovery of my health, I 
may take some fresh ayer ' — was the only petition of the dying 



Not now may true-souTd patriots make 
New homes 

Alluding to the incorrect report (copied even by Godwin) that 
Hampden, Cromwell, and other of the parliamentary leaders, 
once prepared to emigrate to America. 

God made them as the straw 
Cromwell's own words, after the battle of Marston Moor, are : 
'God made them as stubble to our swords.' 'The sword of the 
Lord and of Gideon' — was his usual charging cry. Prince 
Rupert was popularly called Prince Robber, from his eagerness, 
when he had broken through a portion of the enemy, to plunder 
their camp. 

And Worcester echo on the hours 

The ' crowning mercy' at Worcester was on the anniversary of 
the victory at Dunbar. 



Nor shrink 

From solemner tyrannicide 

'It has always been as lawful to put an enemy to death as to 
attack him with the sword. Since then a tyrant is not only an 
enemy, but the public enemy of mankind, he may certainly be 
put to death with as much justice on the scaffold as he is opposed 
with arms in the field.' Milton's Second Defence of the People of 
England. 

For Truth and Peace! 

The battle- word at Waisby-Field. It passed along the line; 
the psalm pealed forth; and, as its last accents sank, the swords 
of the Ironsides flashed out, and Cromwell's voice was heard, 
bidding them charge through 'in the name of the Most High 
God.' What Peace till Truth is thoroughly sure ? 

Or building empire on the waves 

Not only by the victories of Blake and Dean, but also by that 
foundation of England's mercantile greatness — the Navigation 
Act — the work of Oliver St. John. 

Or rounding Safety's broken shield 

We owe the Habeas-Corpus Act, the independent tenure 
of the Judges, the abolition of feudal wardships, and the first 
State assertion of religious freedom, to the Long Parliament. 
They pressed no man in their wars ; and when they had con- 
quered Scotland, their rule was such that even an enemy was 
forced to utter this memorable commendation : — ' There was 
good justice done ; and vice was suppressed and punished : so 
that we always reckon those eight years of usurpation a time of 
great peace and prosperity.' Burnet 



69 



When Scot unravei'd treason's skein 

Thomas Scot, a most industrious and successful tracker of the 
Stuart conspiracies, was one of the firmest and most devoted of 
the republican party. When Monk was smuggling in Charles 
the Dissolute, some of the presbyterians in Parliament were for 
washing their hands of the death of his father. Scot rose and said 
— ' Though I know not where to hide my head at this time, yet I 
dare not refuse to own that not only my hand, but my heart also, 
was in it.' He desired no other epitaph than — ' Here lies Tho- 
mas Scot who adjudged the King to death.' He was one of that 
martyr-band of ten (Yane remaining in prison till 1 662, the 
noblest reserved to complete the sacrifice) whose blood dripped 
on the first steps of the ' Eestoration.' At the scaffold the same 
high spirit spoke from his lips. His last words were a thanks- 
giving to God that of his grace he had engaged him in a cause 
not to be repented of. ' I say not to be repented of.' So stepped 
his soul to God. 

And Ireton led the march of worth 

Cromwell's son-in-law, and lord deputy of Ireland, — of whom 
it has been well said — l He was a most exact justiciary in all mat- 
ters of moral righteousness, and with strength of solid reason had 
a most piercing judgment and a large understanding. — If he erred 
in anything, it was in too much neglecting himself. — He was 
everything, from a foot-soldier to a general.' 'Firm, sober, and 
resolved ' : adds Godwin. 

For Right is primal law of life 

Or, more precisely to meet the formalists: — By what legal 
right did that Long Parliament extend its session? And were they 
about to appeal to the People ? Nay ! Vane himself only sought 
an appeal to a select number, — those whom he thought fit to be 



trusted with the franchise. Such is the mischief of your fitnesses 
and expediences, your so many or so few to be counted worthy. 
Why not Cromwell's select number as well as Vane's ? Where 
was the ' fit ' line to be drawn ? If anywhere, surely outside those 

who had fought, and were fit to fight again, for What ? A 

monarchy by majority of voices, or a republic in spite of any 
majority ? 

While Milton's praises Time inform 
Blame wrecks thee not 

Hear his exact words ! * You, Cromwell ! alone remained 
to conduct the government and to save the country. We all 
willingly yield the palm of sovereignty to your unrivalled ability 
and virtue, except the few among us. . . .' 

Milton's Second Defence.. 
Algernon Sydney too, and that after the death of Cromwell, 
could declare that ' he had just notions of public liberty.' 

Burnet's Own Time : Book I. 

No razor-bridge o'er gulfs of flame 
This and the fourth stanza are but faint paraphrases of Mil- 
ton's own glorious words, in those eloquent but scarce-read 
works — the Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce and the History: 
of England till the Conquest. 

And Art and Song add each its charm 
Such song as Milton's, and Raffaelle's most subtle art. We 
owe the Cartoons to Cromwell. 

Lord ! make this people yet thine own 

1 Thou hast made me (though very unworthy) a mean instru- 
ment to do them some good and thee service ; Lord 1 however 



thou dost dispose of me, continue to goon and do good for them !' 
Such was Cromwell's prayer, a little before his mighty soul 
passed away : amid a storm that shook all London and scattered 
wrecks on the shores of southernmost Europe. 

And ribalds desecrate the bones 

The bodies of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw, were torn out 
of their graves and exposed on the gallows at Tyburn. Their 
heads were then cut off and stuck upon Westminster Hall. The 
miserable revenge was worthy of the son of him who refused Sir 
John Eliot's body to the patriot's son. i These be your Gods, O 
Israel ! ' 

A Rufsell pleading for the right 
Of battle 

Lord William Eussell's real crime was his refusal to admit the 
modern Whig doctrine of passive obedience: our non-intervention, 
when applied to other nations. He died for the sacred right of 
insurrection. — Algernon Sydney was a martyr for the ' good old 
cause ' of the Commonwealth. 

There is no virtue in a choice 
Of evil ways 

How tame and cold and poor the phlegmatic Dutch whiggery 
of 1688 contrasted with the heroism of the preceding generation ! 
1 The sword of the Lord and of Gideon ' transformed into a trick- 
ster's pen ; and for energetic Faith the petty expediences of un- 
principled diplomatists, broadcasting the seeds of our present 
meannesses. Yet Freedom ' shall be justified of her children.' 



And on the crimson-clouded dawn 

Of France strong English words are writ 

Paine's Address to the French People, on the Abolition of 
Royalty : which had to be translated back again into English so 
late as 1843. 

Thy Coke ; thy Selden ; or thy Pym 

Sir Edward Coke, said to be too honest for a Judge, the framer, 
in the Parliament of 1628, of the Petition of Right, to prevent 
forced loans, arbitrary imprisonments, illegal billeting of soldiers, 
and martial law in time of peace. Coke was then fourscore years 
of age. ' The liberties of England ' — says William Godwin — ' are 
perhaps to no man so deeply indebted as to Sir Edward Coke.' 
Selden has been called the most learned man this country ever 
produced. He early rendered himself obnoxious to the Court 
by his History of Tithes- He, too, suffered imprisonment for the 
people's cause, and may justly be ranked among the nobles of our 
noblest epoch. — Pym — the unrelenting pursuer of Strafford, 
brave Admiral Blake, and Sir Harry Vane, are names we all 
know by heart. 

Thy Fairfax — Valour's second self 
Cromwell said of Fairfax, that he would rather serve under him 
than command the greatest army in Europe. ' The high and 
beautiful qualities of Fairfax ' — writes Godwin. And again — 
' He was a most accomplished general, . . in the field col- 
lected and vigilant, seeing every thing.' * He was a man of 
eminent virtue.' 

Thy Marten — Thought with brow unbent 
Henry Marten, ' of an incomparable wit and a great lover of 
pretty girls,' reckless and dissipated ; yet one of the most active 

73 



and wise and serviceable men of the time, and for his many good 
parts admitted to the intimacy of the gravest and most religious 
men of that puritanic age. 'A great observer of justice, and did 
always in the House take the part of the oppressed.' He is said 
to have been the first to openly avow the republican aims of his 
party (' I do not think one man wise enough to govern us all') ; 
and he Avas one of the King's judges. After the Restoration he 
endured twenty years' imprisonment in Chepstow Castle. In the 
last years of his suffering, old and infirm, he was allowed an oc- 
casional walk into Chepstow village. One person admitted him 
into his house, and his visits here were the old man's only solace. 
One day his host inquired — Was the deed again to do, would he 
sign the death-warrant of Charles ? Yes ! said Marten ; and he 
was no more received into the questioner's house. He died in 
his prison at the age of seventy-eight. 

Thy Bradshaw — Worths' tit president 

Bradshaw, Milton's kinsman, first president of Cromwell's 
Council. ' The attachment of Milton is equivalent to volumes in 
commendation of Bradshaw': writes Godwin in his History of 
the Commonwealth. And again, — ' the perfect friendship of these 
three men, Milton, Bradshaw, and Yane !' 

Marvel's incorruptibility, like Robespierre's, has become a 
proverb. 

Our wiser fathers could perceive 
In woman's soul God's purer ray 

Our German ancestors believed that the soul of woman was, 
through its beauty and purity, nearer than that of man to God. 
Some difference between this and sneering at woman-voters or 
using girls in mines, shirt-factories, and . 



Eos, or Aurora, is the Goddess of the Dawn, the bringer in of 
the Sun-God, Hyperion, the Greek Apollo. Ah, if our women 
would become such ! 

The Statesman and the Poet-Priest 

Whose callings are different : the one having to prophesy of 
the future, the other to organise the present. There is no inten- 
tion, in any of these lines, of quitting the true poetic sphere, to 
insist upon any political dogma. The poet has to do with princi- 
ples. Why so much stress is laid upon the almost forgotten duty 
of patriotism is because when once we have learned to step from 
self-love, and that love of family and friends which is but an 
enlarged self-love, to an unselfish patriotism, then the true end 
and aim of life and government will be made plain. And the 
Author has been most anxious to show that the Freedom, whose 
plaint he has essayed to utter, is the Freedom which forsakes per- 
sonal lusts for the sake of the diviner duty. There is Anteros 
as well as Eros : there is also a ' Freedom ' which is not Freedom. 



75 



NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE : 
IMPRINTED BY G. BOUCHIER RICHARDSON. 






